Weakness
by Heroes Fly-Minho's Hero Limps
Summary: HELLFIRE #7 Minho never thought another being of Hell would take an interest in him too.


-All right, this is a proper edition to the Hellfire series. Your reviews have all been wonderful and I'm incredibly grateful for that. A special character makes an appearance in here, but that's all I'll tell you. Enjoy :)-

-Weakness-

Oh, Minho should've known this was a bad idea. A bad bad idea. Most seventeen-year-olds knew it wasn't smart to walk through a bad part of town late at night, in the cold, pre-snow air. But where was Minho right now? Trudging along the sidewalk beside rows of abandoned houses in the worst part of their little neighborhood. Why were these houses even here in the first place?! Every other house in Glade was beautiful and new, if not at least decent. But in this part of the town, all of them had been left behind for...unknown or hidden reasons. Not that he was going to ask. The only people living here now were either poor or drug dealing criminals.

Minho was in trouble.

And all because his father had lost an old picture of some car he owned and sent MINHO to get it back. Was it really that important? No. Definitely not. Judging by the mysterious lights on in the dusty windows next to him, no.

"This is so stupid," Minho muttered, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his black hoodie. An old beer can crunched under his boot and he kicked it away into a dirty yard. "I didn't even find the shucking picture. God knows where he dropped it. Ugh. Probably gonna get jumped by a gang..."

There was a sudden patter of something like footsteps from the street. Minho jumped like a toddler, squeaking. His dark eyes probed the dimness, which was only broken by flashes from the streetlights. But there was nothing there but darkening shadows and a tipped-over garbage can. Great. It had probably just been a cat or something and he almost fainted.

"Idiot," he mumbled to himself. Tucking himself deeper into his hoodie, he continued on. He wished he'd driven up here instead of walking, but it wasn't very far from home. He hadn't seen the point then, but he certainly saw it now. The chill was biting at his ears fiercely. Wincing, he hugged himself and rubbed at his arms; his hand drifted lower on one, to where the Circle was tattooed onto his skin. Maybe he should summon his demon here. They were known for making fire, right? So Newt might be able to keep him warm somehow...

He was half-convinced that he should, when he heard something: a voice.

"Hey."

Wondering if (and why) this person was talking to him, Minho paused and glanced over his shoulder. He ended up freezing mid-step, lips parting in shock. It was almost as though something was holding him still, keeping him from moving. Standing a few paces behind him, outlined by a streetlight's glow, was a beautiful boy. He was dreadfully out of place here, among the dust and cold. His jagged hair looked like windswept flame, a brilliant contrast with those sparking, green eyes. He wore all black, from his leather jacket to his too-tight jeans. And his lips were curved up into a truly delicious smile.

Minho scolded himself and ordered his pounding heart to remember Newt. He shouldn't be so caught up in anyone else. "Um, h—hi," he stammered uncertainly.

The boy's smile broadened. When he shifted his weight to one leg, something golden shimmered from around his neck. "No need to be shy," he said, in a voice like a gentleman's, or like book pages burning. "I was just wondering what someone like you would be doing in a place like this."

"Um." It seemed all Minho was capable of saying. "My dad sent me to find something he lost..."

"Good thing he lost it, then," the boy replied, unbothered. He glided a few steps toward Minho and Christ, he moved like water.

Uneasiness rustled in Minho's heart, but he found himself facing the boy more. There was something...captivating about him, about those emerald eyes fixed on his so intently. This was a dangerous boy. "Why is that?"

"Because if he hadn't," the boy answered, taking on a flirtatious smirk, "I wouldn't have met you here."

Oh, no. "Listen, uh," Minho began, not sure how to proceed, exactly. "I'm—I'm flattered, but—"

"Shouldn't we introduce ourselves before you turn me away so fast?" The boy had taken a couple steps closer. His thumbs were slung in his pockets and his head was tipped to one side curiously. "My name's Max." He practically purred the syllable, low and seductive.

This was BAD. "Minho," Minho introduced himself automatically. "But—"

"Minho," Max echoed, as though trying out the taste of the name on his tongue. "What a lovely name."

A jolt sparked through Minho's spine then. No one he'd ever known spoke like that. No one except one demon. The truth of what this was and of what Max was, hit him like a slap to the face. He should never have come here. His limbs suddenly ached to back away, but under Max's powerful gaze, he was frozen. He remembered how Newt had done this to him before, during their first meeting, and the feeling was no more welcome now. He cleared his throat. "It really is flattering," he repeated. "But I'm not interested."

Max glanced at him through hooded eyes, mischief dancing in them. "What makes you so sure?" he asked in quieter tones. He'd taken on a softer voice now, one like velvet wrapped around a knife blade: deadly. "I can tell that you know what I am—" Minho's heartbeat stopped. "—and so, you must know the things I can give you..."

"No," Minho said too-forcefully. Max raised his eyebrows and Minho went on in a rush. "I don't want anything from you. I—I have someone...already."

"And you don't want to be unfaithful," Max concluded. He shook his head. "Foolish human morals. Don't you ever grow tired of them?"

Again, another few steps closer.

Again, Minho wishing to be free of a demon's grip.

"Get away from me," he ordered. He lost all ideas of being civil with Max. It wasn't going to get him anywhere. "Now."

Halting on the sidewalk, a mere foot away, Max arched a brow at the human. The air between them felt charged and heavy with electricity. When he slipped his thumbs from his pockets, Minho saw that Max's fingers ended in sharpened tips. They were even longer and more wicked-looking than Newt's. "Or what?" Max asked slowly. "You'll try and fight me off?"

That was the last thing he said before he was in front of Minho, faster than lightning; a fist knotted in the neckline of Minho's hoodie and wrenched him forward. Gasping, he stumbled off the edge of the sidewalk and into the grass of some patchy yard. Beneath him, he could see Max's black boots making a path through the grass. A surge of anger burst through him then. He wasn't helpless. He wasn't going to let this demon do this to him. He had to be stronger than this. Gathering all of the strength in his body, he lashed out at Max's face. There was a thud and a flare of pain across his knuckles. Max's head jerked to the side with a hiss, a small cut already appearing across his cheekbone. It would hardly faze the demon for long, that was sure. But it made his grip on Minho's hoodie slacken.

Minho took his chance. Twisting himself away from Max, he ripped from the demon's grasp. Hie wide eyes searched the surrounding street and houses, for anyone or anything that could help him. Of course, there was nothing. But he ran anyway. He took off back to the sidewalk, examining his throbbing knuckles hurriedly. He couldn't see any blood on them. Dammit. He could've used that to activate his Circle, he could've—

"Where do you think you're going, little human?" The sinister question reached his ears, along with an explosion of pain in his skull. Minho bit his lip over a cry as he felt lengthened talons sinking into his hair, his skin. The taloned hands tore his head back so hard, his feet slid out from under him. Crashing onto his back, he felt the hard sidewalk attack his spine. For a moment, there was nothing but aching pulses, everywhere, along every nerve. Unable to move, he sprawled on his back, struggling to breathe. Overhead, a million watchful stars blinked down at him pityingly. At least those claws weren't in his head anymore.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, than Max's face appeared above him. Max stood over the human, leering down at him in obvious glee at Minho's pain. The pitifully small bruise blossoming on his cheek didn't give Minho much hope in his ability to fight back. "You're not going to go quietly, are you?" Max asked. He casually wiped his thumb across the cut on his cheek. Both the blood and the bruise vanished under his touch. "That's fine, though. I rather enjoy the ones that fight back." At this, a sneer twisted his mouth up. "It makes it so much more satisfying when they give in, in the end."

Minho found the strength to glower up at him. "I'll never give in to you," he growled.

"Maybe not," Max agreed lightly. "But I'll have no trouble taking what I want from you either. Most demons hunt for souls, but I hunt for fun." With a malicious grin, he reached down and curled his claws into Minho's neckline again. "And you look like such divine fun, darling."

With that, he hauled Minho up with one hand, effortless. Staggering to his feet, Minho gritted his teeth. He thought about trying to fight again, but before he could do a thing, Max slashed one clawed hand down. The sharp tips raked through the side of Minho's face, painting flames into his flesh. His head snapped to the side with the blow, a weak noise escaping him. He could feel the openings of the wounds in his cheek and a wetness dripping from them. The feeling of fire eating at his skin was too much. Dizziness claimed him and for several, terrifying moments, his vision came and went in bursts. His legs were moving, but barely. Max was taking most of his weight, dragging him along like a doll. They were going somewhere, somewhere dark and alone. Minho needed to get out of this, but he couldn't think, he couldn't see...

The next thing he knew, his back was shoved roughly against the wall of a building. Clawing toward consciousness, he realized they were in an alleyway between two houses. There were garbage cans and litter scattered around them. He immediately thought it was an awful awful place for this to happen to him. Especially when Max's steely form pinned him against the wall, his wrists trapped in a steely hold. "Relax, human," Max purred, breath tickling Minho's face. "This doesn't have to be unpleasant for you, you know." He leaned in and Minho turned his face away. Then Max dragged his tongue up the slashes he'd left in Minho's cheek. A pleased hum left his throat at the taste of Minho's blood and Minho whimpered. He knew exactly what was going to happen to him and his entire being shied away from it. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He never wanted this in a damn alley with a sick demon.

He wanted this somewhere safe. With Newt.

Newt.

Max's hands skimmed down to the hem of his hoodie and Minho panicked. "D—don't," he stammered. But it was no use.

Shoving Minho's arms upward, Max tore the fabric from Minho's body. It left him in only a navy T-shirt, and he trembled in cold and fear as Max twined his fingers in Minho's hair. "You told me you had someone," Max murmured thoughtfully. He sank his talons in, drawing a whine from Minho. The claws of his thumbs dug into Minho's jaw as he tipped Minho's chin up to face him. "But you are such a rare human, so uniquely exquisite for this world. There is no other that can be your equal. Except a being like me." To emphasize his words, he bent his head toward Minho's.

Minho expected a kiss and tried to pull away from Max's hold. But Max just caught Minho's bottom lip in his teeth and pulled. His fangs sank in hard, drawing blood. Minho didn't make a sound this time, but he did wince. It felt like thorns piercing into him. He wanted to fight and run. But Max's stunning emerald gaze held that power again, the power to freeze Minho in place and render him immobile. Damn demon magic. Minho didn't stand a chance against it.

He only moved when Max wanted him to: raising his wrists to either sides of his head, so the demon could trap them there. Minho swallowed as Max angled his head, mouth a mere breath from Minho's. "The mate you've chosen can't be anything like you," Max murmured, dipping his nails into Minho's wrists. A drawn-out whine tore from Minho's throat and Max smiled. "No human can. You cannot tell me he keeps you satisfied. He will never match what you possess, dear human."

Tightening his jaw as the pain in his wrists doubled, Minho managed, "he's more than what I possess, actually."

Max simply chuckled. "Pathetic human love," he remarked. "I suppose the old quote is right then, hmm? Love is blind? You won't see how he doesn't complete you, but I do." The smile that danced upon his lips was like the Devil's. "And I can show you what no other human ever will."

Minho opened his mouth to reply, but Max's claws were digging harder into his wrists. A gasp left his throat as he felt the warmcool sensation of blood dripping down his arms. Max saw his discomfort and let a pout sit on his soft lips. "Oh, sweet Minho," he whispered and placed his lips briefly to Minho's forehead. "You have such beautiful pain." When he drew back, Minho didn't trust the shadow in his eyes. "Let's begin then, shall we? Can't have you running off on me."

That was the only warning Minho had. Suddenly, Max's arm flashed down, grasping Minho's leg at his knee. With a swift jerk of his shoulder, he twisted.

There was a sickening crunch and agony like no other lanced through his body.

All of the breath was sucked from his lungs. Minho only had enough to cry out as he slumped against the wall. He was held up only by Max's hold on his wrists. Chest heaving, he glanced down at his leg. It was bent unnaturally and the denim of his jeans was stained with a blooming rose of blood. Nausea rose into his throat at the sight and he dropped his head back onto the wall with a whimper. There were tears burning his eyes.

"Oh, I was right," Max crooned delightedly. "Your pain is ever so lovely to watch."

"Please," Minho choked out, caught in the scarlet liquid soaking his broken leg, his wrists, his arms.

Max's face bent forward, past Minho's. His lips grazed Minho's ear as he whispered, "and it is so delicious to hear you beg."

Minho closed his eyes. He didn't have any more willpower left in him to fight. He was going to die at the hands of a demon.

That was when Max's body stiffened. He was gazing at something he'd noticed, beneath the trails of red on Minho's arm. "What is this?" he asked softly. His eyes narrowed at the black swirls of ink darting under the crimson. "Have you been marked, when I thought you to be so innocent?"

Minho's mind spun with wooziness. But he still managed to realize what the blood on his arm meant, HIS blood... In a voice low and hoarse, he breathed out, "Newt."

Max looked at him, brow furrowing. "What did you say?"

Then, a voice like honey, a voice that curled in the air like ribbons, a voice of the night and silver and Hell: "If you wish to live the rest of your lowly existence in Hell, I suggest you release that human, now, Max."

The relief that washed over Minho was like cool, rushing water. Cracking open his eyes, he peered over Max's shoulder. His gaze met the flaming blue irises of Newt's eyes. The demon stood behind Max, posture flawless, but with a rigidness beneath his shoulders. Blonde hair fell in jagged strands across his eyes, stirred by the slight breeze. He wore his black slacks with a navy button-down this time, the fabrics modest compared to his usual attire. A sapphire diamond winked from one ear. He looked like sin. He also looked very very angry.

Max's eyebrows flicked up a fraction. There was shock flitting across his glen-green eyes, but he concealed it with the smooth grace of, well, a demon. The flawless features rearranged themselves into a welcoming smile, as he stepped back from Minho and turned around. Minho, finally allowed to slide down the wall and sit, remained on the ground. Gasping for air, he listened to Max's voice. "Izikk, dear thing, I didn't expect to see you on Earth again! What're you doing back so soon?"

"How dare you?" Newt growled in return.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I never want to hear my Demon's name spoken from your mouth again."

Placing a hand over his heart, Max raised his eyebrows. "Why, Newt, you surprise me," he said. "I'd thought we were on better terms than this."

Newt bared his fangs. "We were until the moment you laid hands on that human."

Instead of replying right away, Max shifted to look back at Minho. Still sitting, broken and bleeding on the ground, Minho offered a weak glare up at the redheaded demon. Max narrowed his eyes at the marked skin of Minho's left arm. "So that was a Circle I thought I saw," he whispered to himself. Then, louder, and to Newt, "Dear, please tell me this is a joke." Running a hand back through his hair, he chuckled.

"My name is Newt," Newt shot back in return. His stance was hard as stone, a readiness in his fists at his sides. "Not 'dear.' And I won't hear another word until you step away from that human."

"Oh, this isn't a joke..." Trailing off in a mixture of pity and humor, Max sent Newt half of a smile. "I have to say, Newt, you never cease to amaze me. First, you let yourself be worshipped by that ghastly cult, although, I admit it did look like a bit fun. And then, there was that fiasco back in the nineteen-hundreds with a church full of exorcists. And now?" A crow's caw of laughter left him, suddenly losing some of the unearthly beauty. "Now, you find yourself bound to a human!"

Squinting through the throbs of his injuries, Minho looked to Newt. The blonde was deathly silent. He seemed to be thinking about what was right to say next. Then he took a breath. "...it was the other way around."

Max burst out laughing in earnest. "Don't play games with me."

"HE was bound to ME!" Newt protested angrily. "Don't act as though this never happens in a demon's life!"

"Yes, but never to a demon like you," Max responded. "Really, Newt, you're the only one of us that could have resisted a thing like this. You always insisted that you'd never find yourself bound to the human scum."

"I changed my mind for a bit of fun."

"You changed your heart so you could have his."

Newt's fangs glistened as he snarled and vibrations of energy rattled the very air. "Just—Get the hell away from him!" As he spoke, the charge in the air snapped, sending a streetlight yards away exploding into a thousand shards. The grass around them flared with blue flame, before puffing out in a tide of smoke. Minho was shocked. Never had Newt lost his control, or his soft, sure way of speaking. This was a very different side of the elegant demon.

The mischief melted out of Max's face. Replacing it was a solemn shadow in green eyes and his head bowing in obedience. "Whatever you wish," he replied slowly. "You only needed to ask nicely. I was just fooling around." He edged away from Minho, as though to say, see? I'm not hurting anybody anymore. Then, graceful and wary, he slipped down the alleyway to walk past Newt. The blonde moved to the right to let him pass. Now that the confrontation was over, Newt's eyes were only on Minho.

Suddenly, there was a pulse of something warm and Max was lunging, talons out and raking down, and—

In one deft motion, Newt seized the other demon by the throat and slammed him up against a wall of the alley. The breath whooshed out of Max in a choked gasp. His fingers scrabbled uselessly at the iron-hard grip around his neck, his toes off the ground. Turning his head to meet Max's shocked stare, Newt let the anger simmer in his features for just a moment. Then it all swept away in the return of his confident smirk. "In the future, dear," he began airily, mocking emphasis on the nickname, "be sure to watch where you step. I can be much worse than this in the right mood." His fingers tightened, drawing a squeak out of Max. "And I'm sure you'll think twice the next time you want to touch what belongs to me. Do you understand?"

Swallowing thickly, Max nodded. "...yes."

"Good." Newt released him without another word, unbothered when Max stumbled to his feet. "Now get out of my sight."

The other demon fired a glower at his attacker, but wisely held his tongue. Sniffing, he skulked away, vanishing into the night shadows. Minho didn't want to think about who would be running into Max next. Then again, it was kinda hard to think at all with blood all over him and a broken leg. He tried to move to a better position and groaned when the flames shooting up his leg doubled. Giving up, he started to drop his head back onto the wall of the house.

In a flicker of movement, Newt was beside him, catching the back of his head so that it wouldn't rest on the hard bricks. Minho made a grateful sound at the fingers threading into his hair. One side of Newt's mouth curved upward. "Why must I always be the one who rescues you?" he asked softly.

"Because you're the all-powerful demon in this relationship," Minho mumbled.

"At least you didn't lose your humor." Without any warning, Newt placed his hand on Minho's knee. Minho jerked, startled. Tiny tingles had begun under Newt's palm, warming his skin. He sighed as the warmth spread upward, throughout his leg and easing the agony. Watching in fascination, he saw his leg click back into place, mending itself. Soon, he felt nothing at all from the wound.

Shoulders slumping in relief, he met Newt's gaze. "Thank you for coming," he murmured.

"Love, I promised I'd let no one harm you again," Newt replied. "Of course I would come. I could hear your voice from any corner of existence."

Minho nodded, slightly taken aback. When was the last time Newt had spoken like that with him?

Newt was still gazing at him with a sort of deep emotion and his hand was still on Minho's knee. Unsure, Minho tried for humor. "This is the second time your whole demon thing got me in trouble," he accused. "You definitely owe me a date after this."

He was smiling—until he saw Newt's expression. The blonde cocked his head. "...date?"

Minho stared at him. "You do know what a date is, don't you?" he asked.

"Well, yes, but..." Newt's eyes lowered, lashes drooping. "I can't say that I've ever been asked to one by a beautiful human."

"It was just a joke, Newt," Minho assured him, raising a hand. "You don't really have to—Ah!" He hissed as suddenly, the slashes in his wrists sent lightning bolts up his arms. "Dammit!"

"Let me." Taking Minho's wrists in his fingers, Newt cradled them gently. A few whispered phrases fell from his tongue and the warm tingling arose in Minho's skin. He let the healing soothe him and felt more than a little guilty. Max was right; Newt wasn't Minho's equal. He was far more. Minho wished he didn't have to rely on the demon all the time. There had to be something that they were equal in, some special thing they both shared. Otherwise, he wasn't sure how long this relationship of theirs would last. (If you could even call it a relationship)

When Newt had finished healing him, Minho pulled his hands back to hug himself in the night chill. He offered a small smile. "I think I'd be dead by now if it weren't for you," he joked.

"That is very true," Newt replied flatly. But his confidence was seeping back into him, bringing a grin back onto his perfect features. "But I don't mind saving your life again and again. I have something to look forward to now."

"Yeah, whatever you s—say." Minho stuttered out the last of it, a shudder claiming his body. God, it really was bitterly cold out this late. He should've put on his hoodie again, but it had all happened in such a rush. Shivering, he glanced around for his hoodie. Then he blinked as Newt silently retrieved it from beside them and held it out. He accepted it and gratefully tugged it back over his head again. "Thanks, um..." Minho paused. "Is your real name...Izikk?"

Newt, who was helping Minho stand up at this point, did something he'd never done before. He stumbled. His foot slipped on the singed grass and his hand tightened in Minho's hoodie at his shoulder. Minho heard a slip of breath leave Newt's lungs. When Newt lifted his gaze to Minho's, there was a new and frightening feeling there: vulnerability. "Minho...I don't think it's a good idea for you to say that."

"Why?" Minho asked, automatically touching the small of Newt's back. The demon trembled at his touch.

"Because," Newt answered slowly, "a demon's true name is in Demon's Tongue. We never speak of them to any human. It's why we're all damned if an exorcist ever learns our names." His eyes burned into Minho's then with blue flame. "If a human speaks a demon's true name in our tongue, it's a sign of our weakness. It means we've grown careless enough to let a weaker being know our name."

Bold, Minho reached up to place a fingertip on Newt's jaw. "Why, though?" he asked. "Why can't I know your name?"

Newt swallowed as Minho's finger traced the line of this jaw. "If you use my Demon's name, I have to obey you," he admitted.

Minho couldn't help it. His thoughts immediately raced to all of the possibilities this opened for him. "Really?"

Abruptly, Newt turned his face away. "I can see your thoughts, Minho, and I don't appreciate them," he told him.

Minho blushed bright red. "Sorry," he mumbled. "But you can't blame me for thinking about making you do whatever I want, when you can do it to me."

Newt pulled Minho close to him by his hold on Minho's hoodie. Pressing their sides together, he let Minho feel his body heat as they walked out of the alley. "Perhaps," he agreed, as Minho sighed against him. "But I can't say that I've ever gotten what I really wanted from you."

"You gave me a choice."

"Unfortunately. Is the answer still the same?"

"It's not changing anytime soon."

"We'll see, darling." A broad grin of fangs and perfection spread across Newt's lips. Glancing over at Minho, he leaned up to peck the human's cheek with surprising affection. "Now, about that date..."


End file.
